Chasing the Clouds
by ThornsOfaPerfectRose
Summary: I can block out the pain, and the fear, and I will, if it'll help me be more efficient. I don't want to wake up dead. Based on Lighting Up The Dark by Desyncronization Imminent and Cat265.


**Okay guys, here's my new story. Please note, this is sort of a fanfiction of another fanfiction. My friends Desycronization Imminent on here and Cat265 from Wattpad came up with the idea, and wrote the original story, so if you want to read it, check them out. This is my version, but with my own OC as well. So, disclaimer, I don't own the show Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, or the idea for this story.**

**Good, so basically what's happened here is a mass government disagreement has caused these huge explosions and everyone in New York- possibly the whole world- is dead, except for twins May and Kai- my friends' OCs who aren't even in my version yet, the turtles, and college student Clara. The twins quickly found the turtles and are living with them in the original.**

**By the way, Clara _will _be in the original. Cat and Desync are including her later, but their story probably won't mirror this one in any way.**

**Okay, I'm boring all of you. Just read it if you want to.**

**Clara Tibideaux**

_How did this happen?_ I think, stumbling along in a daze.

Destruction is all around me, impossible to hide or shield myself from.

I wonder if the rest of the world is like this. Mum. Dad. What happened to them?

I shove my tangled hair out of my face- it looks more red than usual, probably due to blood. I sigh. Since the color matches my normal one, I can't easily tell where the injury on my head is; I'll have to check later. My vision is a bit blurry, and when I raise my arm to see what the problem is, I realize there are tears. Not acceptable. I'm not the sort of girl who cries.

When the adrenaline rush that propelled me out of the building I was in when the explosion occurred dies down, I notice a long cut running from my elbow to my collar on my left side. I lightly touch it, drawing back quickly when it burns, and a hiss of pain finds it's way out of my mouth.

I grit my teeth, calming myself and ripping off a piece of my tattered jacket to wrap around the wound. I need to find water before this becomes infected; God knows what would happen to me if it did.

When I go to move my arm into a better position for the piece of cloth, I feel a sharp aching under the skin.

A broken arm. Great. That's just what I needed to help survive in this possibly post-apocalyptic hell.

Whatever. I'll just have to work a little harder to compensate for this... Problem.

I pass by a collapsed and abandoned grocery store, before backtracking because, well, I need stuff. I push past the rubble that used to be a doorway and glance around. No fires, and the basic structure seems to be holding out, if it's fractured in places. I doubt it'll cave in on me at this point.

When I find the cold area, the refrigerators are, obviously, broken, but I pry the door of one open and reach in to grab some still-kinda-cold water bottles and shove them into my sturdy backpack that Mum gave me when I moved here for school. "You'll always need something to carry things in," she'd said. I don't think she knew how right she was.

It's getting dark, and I need a shelter, and it definitely shouldn't be inside; there is no way I'm sleeping in somewhere that has collapsible walls and ceiling, regardless of how safe it looks. I don't want to wake up dead.

I rub my good arm to fight off the goosebumps, but to no avail. It's getting colder and it doesn't help to stand next to an open refrigerator that hasn't completely lost its chill yet.

I need to find some sort of blanket, at least, lest my jacket be my only protection from the attacking wind.

I can block out the pain, and the fear, so I will, if it'll help me be more efficient.

There's a hole in the wall of the store, and through it all I can see is a shelf... Full of footballs? Weird. I squeeze through the hole, pulling my backpack in after me. Looking around, I realize it's another shop, adjacent to the first. This one doesn't seem to be useful to me; I notice another shelf, now with AMERICAN footballs on it, and realize its a sports place. I'm about to climb back through the hole when, out of the corner of my eye, I spy something, and I sprint towards it, ignoring the jolts of pain shooting up my body at the forced movement.

I grab the first one I see, but it's the wrong size. I need a 35, and this one's only a 32. I quickly find the size I'm looking for though- it's not exactly a popular sport here in the States, so of course they wouldn't be sold out of anything.

I don't know why it felt so instinctive to grab that field hockey stick, but I can fight with it if need be, so it's probably a good resource to have on me.  
-

But, seeing as how most people are dead at this point- I have to assume the worst- a place to sleep and some medical supplies are probably more necessary than a weapon.

So I prop my stick against a wall and gather as many of the sports jumpers I can hold with just my right arm. I yank a tent out of the crumbling mess that used to be a wall it was stuck it, and take them both out back of the shopping center.

Once there, I lay three of the jumpers out on the ground, and hook the broken tent to the fence next to me. I now am closed in by the chain link fence- which somehow is still standing- and the dusty patchwork of fabric. I assume, based on where it was, all alone, that it was some sort of display item, maybe the best looking one. It's sad to think that a disaster such as this could turn something once beautiful into a dirty, hole-riddled piece of trash. But then, I guess that's what it's done to the whole city.

Maybe even the entire world.

I get some basic canned food from the grocery- I don't want stuff that'll go bad, or I could get sick, and that is the last thing I want to happen. Although, I do snatch some fruits that'll last at least a few days; apples, oranges, bananas, that type, and a small box of turkey, which I eat when I get back to what I've named Fort Clara. (I have a problem with naming everything)

I've almost finished with the meat- no point in saving it when it can't last outside of a fridge- when I hear the slightest sound from outside.

I tense up and immediately increase my grip on my hockey stick. My breathing slows almost to a stop as I get into a defensive stance, creep forward, and fling open the front flap of the tent, ready to attack...

Apparently, ready to attack the air, because nothing is there.

But I heard something. I'm sure of it. It didn't sound like the wind, and I'm not paranoid or insane- not yet anyway. I glance around, desperately trying to find the source of the noise.

That's when I hear another sound. The slightest, smallest, most soul-crushing little mewl of a heartbroken kitten.

I look down, seeing him for the first time, his little nose twitching, and he's all alone.

All alone, just like me.

I reach towards him, ready to scoop him up, but he backs away, his dark eyes conveying an obvious fear. Not that I blame him; I'm surprised, in fact, that this raggedy little cat managed to survive the explosion.

He's limping, though, and my heart softens. I get out the last of the turkey, and make a line of it to the inside of Fort Clara. He follows warily, eyes wide, but eats every bite. He's probably starving. He should be with his mother still, but I suppose his mum's gone, like mine might be.

I fill a football cleat from the sporting goods shop with water- it's not the best bowl, but it'll do- and he laps it up greedily, seeming to trust me more. Next I scrunch up a jumper so it has a deep indent in the middle and walls to keep the heat in. I reach out, and this time he lets me pick him up, so I place him in the makeshift bed, next to my head, in the corner of the tent.

He seems content, and he curls up, closing his eyes and snuggling in.

I've found my companion.

"Goodnight, Nico," I call.

-  
When I wake up, I know immediately where I am and what's happened, and while I'm spared the disappointment of remembering it wasn't a dream, part of me wishes I'd had at least a few minutes of being oblivious to the Disaster.

After all, who wouldn't want to forget it all?

I don't want this to be reality. I know I would give my life in a heartbeat for things to be normal again. Because right now, it feels like a tiny kitten and a confused teenager against the world.

The world void of happiness, love, and chock full of pain that I have to get through, even if there doesn't seem to be a purpose.

I glance at Nico, asleep in his cocoon of fabric, and I realize that without me, he'd have died. There was a storm last night- I felt it shake the tent, and it was cold enough with my makeshift blankets. Without them, there would've been little chance of his survival.

We could very well be the only living things in the city, if not the rest of the planet. I feel alone, and yet I can understand something. One companion is a lot different than none. One is plenty.

But I have no help. I don't believe in the existence of a God or gods or anything, and even if any of that is real, we're on our own.

If there is a God, he's never been there for me before, and I won't get- and don't want- his assistance now. I can take care of myself. I don't need anybody else.

That's why Nico's worrying me. I can't get afford to get attached. I can survive off of a less-than-healthy diet of things I find in what's left of New York, but he needs meat- a resource that proves problematic, considering any of it not destroyed in the explosions will go bad in days, if not hours.

It's too late, I guess. I'm already attached.

We need to get out of here. To go where and how, I don't yet know. I just know I need to escape this city, and, if at all possible, head back to London, assuming Mum and Dad are okay.

Assuming I haven't lost my only family.

I can't leave yet, though. I don't know if it's dangerous or not outside of where I've been, and I'm not fit to protect us. I'm just lucky I broke my left arm, since I'm right handed, but that doesn't mean I can easily wield a weapon. And I'm fairly sure I sprained my ankle, which will make running away from anything dangerous hell.

I find one blessed refrigerator that's not completely broken, and using some scrap metal as a conductor to somewhat repair it, I get it working. It won't last very long, I know, but a few extra weeks, maybe a month, is better than nothing. I store all the meat I find in it, along with anything else that needs to be kept cold I can fit.

I wipe sweat off my forehead and smile, because maybe we'll be alright.

For two weeks, we stay there, and see nothing. I've stolen clothes from the sports shop, and even though I never liked the Yankees, I don't complain about my new attire. I can always wash the clothes I was wearing, and eventually I get most of the dirt and grime and blood out of them- I've got nothing better to do most of the time- but I can't quite erase the memories.

Yet I wear my jacket everyday, because it's my one article of clothing left from home. I'm not giving that up.

When I start imagining my parents, I push them away. I don't want to live without them... But I don't want to live a lie.

Maybe when the sun crashes through the clouds, I can find the strength to make it through the day. But I'm wondering what happens when your dreams are lying on the ground. Do I pick up the pieces, or leave them to die?

All I see is struggle in my future.

Focus on the present, I remind myself. Focus on surviving. Focus on carrying on for at least a little bit longer.

I need to get away.

This place- it's messing with my head. Giving me dark thoughts when what I need is positivity.

I'll live. Maybe I don't deserve to, and maybe I'm not worth it, but, screw it, nobody else can control it. The survival instinct is the strongest I have.

I'm not selfless. No, I'm not that. But I'm not quite selfish, either. I feel that most people fall- or fell, I suppose- in the middle, because I doubt there are many genuinely concerned for only other's well beings, or only their own.

And I'm not the smartest person. Granted, I started college at age fifteen, but I can't see how that has anything to do, really, with what's important now: how I conduct myself in the face of an emergency.

What I am is strong, and self-reliant. What I am is a girl who taught herself a variant of many different martial arts, how to play the drums, piano, and guitar, and everything books ever told her.

What I am is scared, and what I am is not showing it.

**A/N**

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**You could make my day**

**If you simply review**

**- Rose**


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